


Little Melody

by Zebeyithra



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Mage Origin, Mages, Original Character(s), Red Templars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-03-28 17:14:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3862876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zebeyithra/pseuds/Zebeyithra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set before Inquisition and traveling into it, Diana Trevelyan is a surviving Mage from the Ostwick Circle. After the Mages declare their independence, Diana is left trying to find her way without the structure of the Circle to guide her. This story currently follows her escape and subsequent adventure prior to and including the Inquisition.<br/>Will have: Spoilers, Romance, Death, Fighting, etc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very rusty beginning that I will probably go back and rewrite. It's been awhile since I've done any serious writing so this might take some winding up to get going. I'm anticipating quite a few chapters...

    The Orlesian style ballroom was alit with candles and mirrors in every direction. Swirling couples flit about like many colorful butterflies as a young girl made her way down the center, curtsying gracefully to the dancers as they passed. Her own gown mirrored the others in paler tones, accented by the small Chantry token she wore around her neck. Strawberry curls bounced around her face while she slowly made her way forward. Tucking one behind her ear, she briefly considered slipping out of the delicate slippers her mother had insisted on making her walk in. 

“Mademoiselle, your parents are waiting. We mustn't keep them longer,  s’il vous plait .” The steward escorting her pressed a hand gently on the young girl’s shoulder, urging her forward. The girl smiled apologetically at the nervous man.

“Of course, Anton. We wouldn’t want Mother angry,” she sighed, checking her reflection in a mirror as she passed. She knew her mother would disapprove of the religious pendant, but it had been a gift from her brother. Everything else was to her mother’s standards; Hair piled like a foamy mousse, skin painted porcelain pale, nails trimmed and shined. She looked like the ideal daughter.

She hated it. 

Even at this distance, she could hear her mother’s shrill complaints above the stringed orchestra. She and the steward exchanged sorry glances. A few more feet across the marble floors and she found herself in front of her family.

Her mother was standing, ignoring the ornate chairs she had insisted needed to be from Val Royeaux, directing a servant on how to properly hold the platter of heavy pastries. Her father was nearly asleep in the large seat, a forgotten goblet hanging from his fingers. The only one who seemed to notice her was the guest of honor, her brother.

“Diana! How are you?” She was swept up into a bear-like hug, feet lifted from the ground. Their mother’s voice pierced between them.

“Vincent!  Contrôle-toi ! She is a young woman, not some doll to be thrown about.” The thin woman separated them, stepping between them to inspect her daughter once more. Slim fingers tapped under the girl’s chin. “Hm. No more pastries for you. You’re getting heavy. And Vincent,” she glared behind her, “Her name is Dianella. Not this Diana-”

“I’ve always liked the name Diana for her, Yvette.” Their father stretched, yawning widely before sitting properly. “You said it didn’t sound Orlesian enough to you.” Yvette coughed delicately, her face setting into the solid smile that gave Vincent and Dianella shivers.

“I apologize that I didn’t want our children to be named after your old war dogs, Henry. Maker knows that Marrow or Bloody sound  Fereldan enough.” Her voice teetered off as her grin widened, showing her nearly perfect teeth. The siblings stepped back, letting their father rise to his full height. Henry towered over his unwavering wife.

“You know their names weren’t Bloody or something ridiculous. If I had been named after my father’s dog, I would have been honored. Instead, our son has to go to war being ‘Chevalier Vincent D’Allard’, as if that wasn’t  Orlesian enough.” Yvette rolled her eyes, pressing a hand on her husband’s shoulder until he sat again. 

“Keep drinking, Henry. I’m sure that will help the night go along smoothly.” Vincent and Dianella sighed before their mother rounded on them. “Vincent, I’m very proud of you, serving Orlais like this. Your grandfather would have been proud of you, darling.” Vincent bowed deeply, getting pulled away by some diplomat while Yvette rounded on her daughter.

“What is that you’re wearing?” The words were quiet but sharp. It took all of Dianella’s resolve not to flinch. Her hand, however, immediately shot up to cover the sun pendant. Yvette roughly pried her daughter’s hand away, snapping the delicate chain around her neck. “I told you no more of this Chantry nonsense!”

“I don’t want to be some bored lord’s wife! I want to join the Chantry! I can help there-” Yvette’s hand slashed through the air, slapping Dianella’s cheek enough to turn it rosy pink. Dianella’s eyes welled with tears.

“You are nobility, Dianella. Not some farm daughter wishing to better herself. I will not have you turn into a waste of my time!” Yvette let the charm drop to the floor, crushing the red glass underfoot. 

The girl’s dress billowed around her as she fell to her knees, picking the broken pieces up in her hands. The red glass that had made up the rays sliced her fingertips and she let the blood pool there. Her mother’s shoes appeared at the top of her vision.

“Get off the floor.” Dianella looked up, rage blurring her vision slightly. Her hands tightened into fists, letting the glass drop to the floor with matching blood drop following. Dianella’s skin tingled.

“No,  Mother .” A low hiss followed. The ballroom had fallen silent, the merrymakers catching sight of the hostess and her daughter. Blood dripped onto the pristine dress beneath her.

“I said get up.” Yvette’s voice sharpened. Dianella smiled a little, the tingling feeling running under her skin. Yvette’s hand came up with a crowd of gasps, moving through the air to slap her daughter once more. Dianella’s own hand shot up to grasp her mother’s fragile wrist, making blood drip down her mother’s arm.

“I said no.”

“You little-” Yvette struck out with her other hand.

A bright blue haze rippled across Dianella’s skin, making Yvette’s blow glance away. Dianella’s eyes went wide, the haze disappearing as quickly as it appeared. Gasps of awe and shock ran through their audience. Yvette, however, was unfazed, already rearing back for another blow. 

“I SAID-”

* * *

“GET UP, DIANA!” The voice of her bunkmate roused Diana from her sleep, hands already glowing with a prepared spell. Her partner had already thrown on a set of robes, tossing Diana’s to her in haste. The tower rang with the sounds of fighting.

“What’s going on?” Diana pulled the robes over her head, grabbing her staff from under her bed and rising. 

“Swords? Maybe someone’s Harrowing went badly?” The small elf poked her head out into the hall. Diana was a step behind before her elven roommate’s body was pulled into the hallway, a scream ending in a bloody gurgle. She ducked behind the door, pushing it shut. Screams and clanging rang through the room from the small window and through it she could smell flames. Diana gasped for air, willing her trembling limbs to calm before letting the familiar tingle of magic flow under her skin. 

A vision of magic and power, Diana wrenched the door back open, casting several spells in succession. The hall was filled with the bodies of mages, templars and demons alike, making the air smell metallic with the spilled blood. Diana wrenched back at the sight of the eviscerated elven body nearest her. An Enchanter burst through the door nearest her.

“W-what’s happening?” Diana shook, the power of her spells rushing through her limbs in a battle-ready state. The man grinned, a dagger in one hand, blood dripping from his arm. Demons flooded in behind him.

“You know what this is, my dear student. Tonight, Ostwick burns.”


	2. Dear Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Circle of Ostwick has fallen and Diana struggles to move forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise not to do so much flashback in the future. :/

> My dearest brother,
> 
> Yes, I still live. I do not know what the stories say about what has happened here, but I know that I live and few others do. I saw mages on both sides. A few Enchanters seem to have been leading the charge, but most of them were defending us. I think when the Templars found us, they just saw mages fighting and attacked. 
> 
> Vincent, there were demons here. And abominations. I don’t know who summoned them, but it can only mean blood magic. The Templars started to kill any mage they saw. I tried to defend a few of us for awhile, but Templars and Demons? I am not ashamed to say we were afraid. 
> 
> My friends and I were separated, but I know they made it out. I’m no apostate. I will stay near until more Templars arrive and turn myself over to them. Maker willing, they will listen and bring me to another Circle. If not, I’ll try to disappear. 
> 
> I had to kill a man. It was terrible. It was one of the Enchanters. He came at me with a blade and I--
> 
> His face keeps me awake at night. How do you do it?
> 
> I will stay strong, like Father always told me.
> 
> Your sister.

  
  
  


Diana sealed the small scroll and tied it securely to the crow’s tail feathers, giving the note one final glance before sending the bird out the window. She had hidden herself in the fallen ruins of the tower. Little stood of the once grand structure, but it was enough to conceal herself during the day.

Night had fallen, making the collapsed walls throw shadows further than she had ever seen, and the smell of the fresh air set Diana panicking. It had been years since she had last stepped outside of the tower. The stars themselves overwhelmed her, sending the woman deeper into the catacomb-esque structure. 

Blood streaked the few remaining barriers in long fingerprints, giving Diana a way back to her haunt. A few overturned tables and a cabinet made a small cave for her to crawl into. The few scraps of cloth she found unburnt made a nest that she had barely used in the days since the tower fell. Even here, the coppery scent of blood drenched the ground until it singed her nose. Diana again brushed her hair back, shaking hands knotting her hair in a feeble attempt to plait it as she always did. Frustration got the better of her and she growled to no one. 

“Will anyone even look here?” She thought, looking at her bare provisions. A loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese were all she could find in the destroyed kitchen. Turning it over, she could see green fuzz already eating at the edges. She growled again. She would have to leave soon. 

Peeking her head out of her space, she looked up at the sky again. Vertigo set in almost immediately.

“This must be how the dwarves first felt,” she marveled before pulling back in like a frightened hermit crab. Her knees came up to her chest and she hugged herself tight, rocking slightly as her breathing normalized. Stars burst beneath her eyelids as she rubbed them, yawning. She curled up in the few sheets, wrapping them about her before resting her head against the ground, sleep finally claiming her.

 

* * *

 

The only thing seven-year-old Diana had ever wanted was to join the Chantry, become a Sister, and help people. She was fully devoted to the Maker in the way only a child could be, constantly singing the hymns and cross-stitching the Chantry symbol over and over until her room was decorated in crimson and gold. Her writing practices came from Transfigurations and her brother joked that between the ages of five and seven, she had spoken only the Chants with such fluency that she often corrected the Chanters themselves. So when she first saw the tip of the Circle Tower, she found herself chanting rhythmically to the beat of the horse’s hooves beneath her. 

Her father had insisted on sending Diana off in comfort: a carriage and a chest full of clothes and belongings. Her mother, behind her father’s back, had made sure the carriage was little more than timber slung together on wheels and the chest had become a sachet, just large enough to fill Diana’s small hands. Her father and brother sent her off with kisses and hugs until the group of Templars had insisted they had to be underway. Diana thanked the Maker that her mother failed to show. 

Only a few days ride later, Diana insisted on stopping a few miles away from the Tower for a last moment. A family of farmers had admired the shoddy wagon and horses while they passed, and Diana asked one of the Templars to stop them.

“It’s really nice,” one had shrugged, stunned by the Templar’s shining armor.

“But it’s practically falling apart. Why would you like it?” Diana had climbed out of the carriage, watching the group eye the hitch. 

“Its not that bad. Good solid base to it. A li’ work and it’d ride smooth,” the eldest farmer commented, pacing around the wagon before returning to her. “If you’re headed to the tower, ya can’t keep it, but I’ll buy it off ya.” Diana laughed. 

“I don’t need anything. You can have it.” The young girl’s charity surprised even the stoic Templars as she added, “If you really feel that you have to pay, give it to the Chantry.” Her selflessness was why, an hour later, she was balanced precariously on the back of a large Templar warhorse, watching the Tower rise out of the foggy hills.

“I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade…” The man in front of her had turned around in surprise before continuing to ride, completing the Canticle with her. 

“‘For there is no darkness, nor death either, in the Maker's Light.’ You’re very brave, girl.” The soldier looked back at her but her gaze was fixed on the Tower. 

“No, I’m not.”

 

“What do you mean ‘no’, child?” The Grand Enchanter looked down at Diana, utterly confused. Most new students were eager to show what little they had mastered on their own, but Diana’s hands remained firmly clasped together behind her.

“I won’t use magic, Grand Enchanter. Sisters don’t use magic, so neither will I.” She sounded much older, her head held high as she remained resolute. The Enchanter was confused.

“I don’t think you understand, girl. Magic is building in you. It will try to break out whether you like it or not.” The mage circled Diana as she lectured, sounding trained and worried. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t like it. Magic is a part of you from now until your death.” Diana’s shoulders fell as the Enchanter continued. “You must learn to master it now or-”

“Or you will become fodder for demons, as many before have become.” The Knight Templar who had been standing by the door finally chimed in, making both mages jump in surprise. 

“Demons, Ser?” Diana shivered at the word, biting her lip in worry. The Templar seemed to take pleasure in her worry, stalking towards her as he narrated.

“Oh yes, Demons. They’ll start quiet, promising anything you’ve wanted and bribing you until they take over your mind and body, twisting you until you’re nothing more than a shell for them to-”

“ENOUGH, Ser Bantam!” The Enchanter stepped between them, separating the tall Templar from the now frightened girl. The Templar continued to stalk a circle around Diana, who stood facing him. Her hands clasped at her sides, gripping until her knuckles were white. “Can’t you see she’s just scared?” Ser Bantam threw back his head, laughing sarcastically.

“Do you think a Desire Demon will see her and go ‘Oh no, I better leave her alone. She’s just scared’? They don’t care how old or scared or strong you are, little mage. They will take you and-” Diana screamed as the Templar lunged forward again, her hands flying up to her temples. Her fingers shone bright blue before a wave launched itself from her, sending both Enchanter and Templar flying to the walls. Diana’s vision was blurry, but she could see the adults climbing back to their feet, others entering the room at the commotion. 

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to-” Diana whined, a headache settling in as weariness climbed into her joints. An elderly mage picked the girl up, taking her from the room. The Grand Enchanter took a seat as Ser Bantam righted the small desk, wiping the blood from her split lip.

“So...How badly did she get you?” The Templar grunted, shuffling in his armor.

“Maybe a sprained wrist, but nothing more than bruises.” The Enchanter grinned up at Ser Bantam, waiting for him to look at her. It took over a minute, but he sighed and entertained her. “Yes, she’s strong.”

“I’m thinking Warmage-Strong. Was all that intimidation worth it, Ser Bantam?” He groaned, sending another Templar away with a note.

“It’s always worth knowing all we can, Enchanter. She’ll need to be watched carefully. Restrained, even. That mageling can really hit.”

“Of course, Knight Templar.”

  
  


* * *

 

“Search the area! There might still be some here!” Diana jerked awake, cursing as she saw sunlight. She snatched up her bag and staff, crouching while the sound of armored footsteps hurried around her. A silver glint of light flashed across her face and she ducked, hurrying around a makeshift corner before taking her staff in hand and quietly setting her small haven ablaze. She watched the smoke rise from it for a moment longer, feeling a sense of heartache before the approaching forces made her move away. 

A small outcropping of trees allowed her enough cover to move away before looking back. A few red banners caught her gaze. She saw the flaming sword and her heart jumped in terror.  Templars.


	3. Tea Leaves and Red Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young Diana struggles with her impending Harrowing.

“Senior Enchanter?” Lydia looked up from her tomes towards the voice. She had been watching over a group of younger students as they read, occasionally answering questions in the droning tone of the bored. This time, an older student had approached, carrying an armload of heavy novels that covered her face. The older woman removed the first few books and set them down for the apprentice. “Thank you so much. I was about to drop those.” Lydia laughed.

“You mean again, Diana? I think you woke up half the tower last time. What are you studying this time?” Lydia sat down, looking at the aged spines of the books. “‘Ardel’s Theory of Fade Mechanics’ and ‘Pharamond’s Research: 9:34 Dragon’?” Diana sighed, pulling her hair back in her nervous habit. Lydia motioned to the chair next to her before giving the students a stern look; A few had started to watch instead of study.

“Well, I asked Enchanter Gilad and he told me to shut up, so I asked Enchanter Arwyth and she told me the same. Then I-” Lydia raised a hand to silence Diana’s ramblings. The Senior Enchanter looked over the books once more before looking back to the worrying apostate.

“Are you afraid of being made Tranquil? I’ve told you before, Diana. You’re ready for your Harrowing, whenever that will be. You’re more than talented.” Diana bit her lip, staring down at her slippers before taking a deep breath.

“If I was Tranquil, would I be able to join the Chantry?” The question hung like ice in the air between them, silencing the whispers of the other apprentices around them. Lydia felt herself go cold, worrying for a moment before she realized that they were truly cold. Diana made a small sound and sat on her hands, quelling the conjured ice from her fingertips. A student coughed.

“Diana, come with me.” Lydia pushed the books aside, motioning for Diana to follow.

The pair made their way through the tower, nodding and making polite conversation with everyone as they passed. They were otherwise silent until they entered the Senior Enchanter’s quarters. Lydia waved at the kettle as they entered, setting some water boiling. This was part of their own ritual: Make tea, sit and drink it for a minute, then discuss. Lydia settled at her desk as Diana busied herself finding the mugs and tea leaves. 

“Diana, why do you want to join the Chantry so badly?” The question was innocent enough, but even across the room, Lydia could see her apprentice's shoulders rise as if she expected to be hurt. “You’ve been set, maybe even so far as obsessed, with joining the Chantry, but have you ever thought why?” Diana brought the mugs over, setting one down in front of Lydia. There was a tremor in the young student’s hands that Lydia hadn’t seen before, sending some of the tea sloshing out of the mug and onto some bare parchment. The tea spread out, mapping the trenches and divots in the dry paper. Diana set her own mug down, only to see it fly across the room as her hand knocked it off the table. She sighed, shaking back tears of frustration as she raced to pick up the shards. 

“I keep doing this, I’m sorry,” Diana apologized. Lydia grabbed her wrist, making Diana stop on her side of the desk. At that moment, the Senior Enchanter looked more worried than ever. 

“Diana, are you alright? Ow!” Lydia shook her hand away from Diana’s skin, seeing a purple streak of lightning race down Diana’s forearm before shocking the floor. Diana was nearly in tears.

“I’m so sorry! I keep doing that! I don’t even know what’s going on!” Lydia sighed, rubbing her hands together before setting them on either side of Diana’s face.

In just a few years, Diana had gone from the childish girl to a young woman. Her gaze was still as innocent as the first day Lydia had seen her, round lyrium blue eyes blinking back as she searched Lydia’s face. The spray of freckles had disappeared from Diana’s cheeks to be replaced by the porcelain paleness that covered so many of her students. Lydia wouldn’t say, but Diana resembled her mother more and more each day. 

“You are fine, alright? Now, when did this start?” Diana closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before answering.

“A-about three days ago. I was practicing some basic spells. It was weird because I could feel the spell build up, but it didn’t stop. Now it’s like I’m on full charge. I haven’t even slept.” Diana’s words were fast, her lips tripping over the pauses until they all tumbled together. Lydia breathed with her, making Diana pause to take deep breaths with her. 

“And you immediately thought of Tranquility because?”

         “Because they don’t have this problem?” It took all of Lydia’s control to not break down laughing. It didn’t stop a somewhat bitter smile from cracking across her face.

“Diana, Tranquility is a last resort, not an option. You do know what Tranquility is, I assume?” Diana took another moment, her lips racing as she repeated some section to herself before answering.

“It’s, uh, when the Templars sever the connection between a Mage and the Fade.” Lydia nodded.

         “Yes. But you lose more than just a connection. You lose…” She trailed off, a sorrowful look on her face. Diana chew her lip in worry before coughing, bringing Lydia back to her. “When I was your age, I had a friend. We were practically sisters. Everyone used to tease us about it.” Lydia smiled, the edges of her eyes crinkling at the memory.

“Like me and Rina?” Diana pulled herself to the edge of her seat, long sleeves pooling on the desk as she rested her elbows on the wooden top. Lydia nodded.

“Almost exactly like you two. Except my friend didn’t have the self-control you or Rina possess. I always had to keep bailing her out of trouble.” Lydia leaned in as if to tell a secret. “One time, I found that she had sneaked into the kitchens, but she set off a trap and I had to get her out before the cooks returned. She gave me some chocolate for it, but we nearly got caught.” Diana’s hands flew to her mouth to hold back her giggles. Her cheeks turned red and her eyes watered as she tried to imagine the matronly mage as a young woman, sneaking about the tower and stealing candy. 

“What happened?” Lydia’s laughs slowed until they became silent, her face falling. Her gaze trailed out to the window where a bright blue bird sat. It sang for a minute before flying away.

“I went for my Harrowing. When I came back, she was Tranquil.” The silence was thick between them, almost quiet enough to hear the drip of a tear falling into a cup of tea. “She… wasn’t the same. It was like looking at a distant painting of my old friend.” Lydia sat forward and grabbed Diana’s hands. They no longer trembled. “Whatever your wish is, Diana, Tranquility is never the answer. Promise me.”  

Diana watched Lydia’s eyes well up as she gripped her hands tightly.

“I promise.”

* * *

 

Diana’s hands trembled as she fished into her bag, feeling knives and other objects scrape against her slowly toughening skin. A curse escaped her lips as the skin over her knuckle split, smearing blood over the inside of the canvas bag. 

She had been running for days, hiding in abandoned barns and turned-over carts on the side of the road. Every night, the air rang with the sound of darkspawn and fighting, roars and clangs filling her ears until she curled up and cried in terror. She had found a hooded cloak on the body of a farmer a day before, even the thick burlap creating enough of a barrier between her and the rest of the world enough for her to travel without feeling dizzy. So long as she stared at her feet, she made good time.

This morning, she had awoken to the sound of stomping feet and twanging bowstrings. The noises weren’t Templar enough to her; Years in the tower had taught her to recognize the marching boots or shaking armor from floors away. She wasn’t sure, but a force large enough to hear was enough to set her nerves on edge. 

It took a full minute before she found the tools she was looking for. The glass Chantry sun hung from a leather thong in her hands, sending a blood-red tinge over her arm. The center was cracked in a thin Y, but the metal had been reforged until it was almost brand new. Diana searched the tree line behind her before pulling the amulet over her head. 

A deep shiver ran through her as she felt all the mana in her body drain out. For a moment, she was a little girl, held by her wrists as Ser Bantam drained the energy from her body so she wouldn’t set her bed on fire again. In under a minute, she had no magic left in her. She lifted the amulet up to the sun, watching the coalescing rainbows inside the glass before tucking it into her robes. Step one was done. 

In the reflection of her gathering knife, she pulled her hair back into a messy bun before pulling out a small brush and a bottle of dark brown paste. Biting her lip, she slowly brought the drenched brush to her forehead.

 

“It’s been days, Gale. What makes you think we’ll find anything?” The tallest man of the group, a nearly giant man with strong brows, grumbled towards the group. They had traveled to the tower to see if there was anything of value left to be gathered, but the books had been burnt and the rest looted. Now they were making their way back to Kirkwall in the hopes of pawning off the few pieces they had found. 

“Because the trail is still fresh, Frederick. Just… let me do the thinking, big man.” The rogue clapped the warrior on the shoulder, a feat that required more than a bit of a jump, before forging on ahead. Gale studied the broken branches and small footprints in the loamy dirt. A child, maybe? Someone small enough to escape the hawk-like gaze of the Templars back at the ruined tower. Moving on, Gale’s eyes narrowed as he came across a patch of elfroot. It had been perfectly collected, only the most useful leaves collected with a blade sharp enough to not pinch the stem. A trained mage, then. 

Gale gave a low whistle and all noise stopped in his group, save for the unsheathing of several weapons. With the stealth usually reserved for attempting to sneak around hordes of darkspawn, the group of men slunk forward as one. Within a few meters, they came across their prey. 

She was kneeling down by a large Royal Elfroot, tenderly nipping the leaves between her thumb and a small blade in her hand. A large canvas bag sat open next to her with several clippings of varying types hanging out to dry. The mage stoically observed the leaves before storing them and walking over to a small pond where a few blood lotus flowers had begun to bloom. Gale watched her work for a moment before dropping his fist from his side; His crew relaxed. The collective sigh was enough to capture the mage’s attention. She turned to face them and Gale smiled.

“Well, well, what’s one of you Tranquil doin’ so far from the tower?” The woman’s face remained passive as she placed her clippings into her bag and picked it up, slinging it over her shoulder. The Chantry Sun on her forehead was bright and solid between her eyebrows, giving them all an air of ease.

“The Tower has fallen. I had no purpose there. I came here to retrieve herbs to sell in town.” Her voice was steady and monotone, predictable for the strange not-mages. “If you require any potions, I can prepare some in exchange for some food.” Frederick grunted, fishing at the pouch at his side. The hiss of pain as he twisted, however, made the Tranquil’s face twitch. 

“What’s wrong, Frederick? Hit the mead too hard last night?” The group of men laughed, but the woman approached the large man, dainty fingers darting out in the lightest of touches to feel at Frederick’s side. 

“A broadsword, swung left handed and downward. He struck you as you turned, did he not?” The laughter stopped, and the woman looked about. The group was in rather worse condition than they let on. One man’s head was bandaged, another was limping, and yet another was freshly missing the last three fingers on his right hand. She surveyed them, resisting the urge to busy about. “You fought Templars.” They held their breath, guilty eyes exchanging glances until she added, “They would kill us if they found us.” 

“What’s this ‘us’, Tranquil?” Gale stepped forward, one hand resting on the shortsword that hung from his hip. She stood resolute, hands clasped beneath the large cloak in front of her. Her head tilted slightly to the side, as if studying the band’s leader.

“The Templars received the Rite of Annulment. When this happens, they receive permission to kill anyone who lived at the Tower, or who visited it recently. Even though I am at a reduced chance to become possessed, it is still a chance the Templars are not willing to risk.” She swallowed, trying to hide her nervousness. Gale’s face was curious, tilting back and forth for a minute before licking his thumb. In a swift move, he closed the space between them and rubbed on the Chantry mark on her forehead. “MAKER’S-!” She snapped, jumping back. 

The sun mark was smeared only slightly, but it was enough to make Gale smile brightly, laughing as he wiped his thumb off on his pants.

“You had me more scared than a mabari in a chateau, young lady! A Tranquil way out here? Bad news, I tell you,” Gale guffawed, wiping the tears from his eyes. Diana huffed, crossing her arms. The team joined in on the laughter except Frederick, who laughed once and winced. Her disgruntledness forgotten, Diana rushed to his side and pressed a pack of herbs to his back. “But a mage, I can use. How’d you know a Templar attacked him?” Diana grinned to herself, pulling her bag close as she began to patch Frederick up.

“Because the only left handed fighter I know is Ser Bantam. That and their weapons bite. They’re all enchanted.” She poured a small vial against the wound before gently holding it open, using the edge of her blade to clean the wound out. Gale shoved a leather glove into Frederick’s teeth before the giant of a man could scream. He watched Diana work as the men passed around the few healing potions left in her bag.

“Listen, we’re heading to Fereldan. Anywhere out of the Free Marches. We tend to get a little beaten up,” he paused as Diana fixed him with a glare, blood already soaking into the hem of her robes as she rinsed the wound that crossed Frederick’s back. “Ok, a lot beaten up. Travel with us and I’ll get you out of here. We need a healer.” He watched as Diana pulled the necklace out from under her robes, placing it gently in her bag before tipping back a tiny bright blue vial. Her eyes burned Lyrium blue for a moment while her fingertips began to glow. Frederick hissed as the magic jumped from her hands to his skin, forcing the skin to knit back together. 

    “And why would I want to go to Fereldan?” Her brows were furrowed in concentration as she wove the magic through his wound, her consciousness focusing on healing from the inside out. Any mistake here could cause an abscess or festering. Gale grinned, tucking his long black hair behind a pointed ear.  
    “Because it’s not the Free Marches?” She shrugged, pulling another healing potion out of her robes and handing it to Frederick. The giant blonde man nodded, chugging the potion back with a cringe. She sat back on her heels, sighing as she wiped the blood on her hands on the grass next to her.  
    “I guess I can’t fight that logic.”


	4. Trials 1:16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diana finds safety in numbers and begins her journey to Ferelden.

    Diana lay in her hammock, listening to the sounds of the gently rocking ocean around her. In the hold of the Silver Lance, her usually oppressing fear of the open sky was almost nonexistent, letting her truly relax for the first time in months. It had taken three disguises, innumerable coins, and shear luck for her and Gale’s crew to make it past Kirkwall unnoticed. They had only been able to charter a journey to Ferelden after Gale’s charisma and silver tongue had promised the smaller ship protection during the voyage.

    “I swear,” Frederick hiccupped from a few hammocks down, “I will never set foot on a ship again.” His face turned green and he rushed up the stairs to the deck, making a few deckhands laugh. Even after a few weeks, most of their band were still seasick. A majority of their days were spent ‘standing guard’ at the front of the ship, staring straight ahead in the hopes that their stomachs would finally settle.

    Diana leaned over the side of her rocking hammock slowly to smile down at Gale. His brimmed hat was pulled over his eyes, but his lips were moving slowly. It took only a few moments to Diana to realize what he was doing.

    “Qu’est-ce que tu fais?” Her voice was relaxed and smooth, something Gale had been teaching her to pick up rather than her higher pitched rambing. The elf moved the hat up far enough to give her a flashing smile. No matter how many times she saw it, Diana was always enthralled by his dimpled cheeks and grinning eyes.

    “I’m trying to practice, duchess. Not all of us are scholarly,” Gale huffed, the rising of his chest making the blades he kept strapped there catch the small amount of light in the dusty hold. Diana returned his grin, trying to not fall from the canvas hammock as she climbed out. The ship chose at that moment to rock, sending her falling like a stone onto Gale’s reclined body. “Oof!”

    “Bon dieu! I’m sorry!” She laughed, chortles falling into tiny giggles as she realized this was the fifth time today she had fallen from the hammock. Gale had insisted she take the cot above his after finding a few curious sailors looking through Diana’s sparse belongings. The ship finished its climb over a large wave and rocked again, nearly sending Diana out of Gale’s arms. Rolling, Gale wrapped his arms around Diana and caught her, landing between the mage and the wooden floor. Diana remained giggling until she heard Gale’s own laughter below her.

    “It’s quite alright. I could get used to this, actually,” He rumbled, gently holding her arms steady. Diana blushed, finding herself unable to climb to her feet. The elven man beneath her locked eyes with her, his eyes the same deep chocolate brown as the sweets Enchanter Lydia used to pass her. A man coughed.

    “Youse twos gonna lays there all days, or do youse twos need help?” Kilmin, their dwarven fighter, nodded at them from his perch on a box emblazoned with Kirkwall’s blood-red symbol. Diana’s face flushed a matching shade of red as she climbed back to her feet. Kilmin grumbled something as Gale rose as well, tucking his cloak close around him until he looked indistinguishable from the burlap sacks around him.

    “Je suis désolé,” Gale whispered slowly, placing his arm gently over Diana’s narrow shoulders. Diana smiled.

    “Très bon. Peut-être-”

        “MAN OVERBOARD!” The quiet hold became a bevy of activity as resting sailors jumped to life, shouting commands to one another. Diana was pushed about, forced into a corner as the hold emptied, before she grabbed her satchel and threw her cloak over her shoulders. Gale looked back as she followed them up the stairs.

    “Diana-” She pushed past him, pulling the hood over her head before rising to the deck.

    The sun was setting on the edge of the landless horizon, making the normally cream-white sails a slowly reddening orange. Several large sailors hoisted a water-logged form onto the deck, letting it fall with a wet splat onto the well-kept deck. Diana pushed her way through the crowding men, forcing her way to the front. Her hands had already found a pack of elfroot before she paused.

    The man was dressed in silver armor, red robes accented with gold lining. Diana rushed forward and cut the man’s scabbard from his belt, handing the sword to whoever would take it. Moving quickly, she pulled a dagger from his boot, his bracer and, surprisingly, under the collar of his armor before turning him over. Using one of the daggers, she cut the leather holding his armor together and unceremoniously ripped it from him. Her hand rested in front of his mouth for a moment before pinching his nose shut. Diana’s lips sealed against the drowned man, blowing until his chest rose. She reeled back, panting as one of the sailors pressed his hands to the man’s chest and thrust. The man stayed still for a moment longer before his eyes flew open, coughing and gasping as sea water rushed out of him. Diana stepped back, Gale pulling her behind him as the man came to.

    “What were you doing out here, Templar?” The ship’s captain, a hunchback elderly man with a large tricorn hat and even larger white beard, approached the stunned warrior. The Templar looked up with a nearly empty gaze, no longer panting. The crew stepped back and the Templar’s sword was passed further back. Restless hands found their way to hilts as the warrior rose, looking through the crowd. Diana could feel Gale stiffen as the Templar’s endless gaze passed over them.

    “The singing… I tried to follow…” His hands clenched at his slicked hair, pulling his fingers through until they rested on his shoulders. His knuckles were white as he turned slowly. Even Frederick, normally calm in the midst of battle, had forgotten his seasickness to silently stand in front of Diana. Somehow he had already drawn his greatsword, keeping it resting against his shoulder in feigned relaxation. She had seen him take a man’s arm off with just one swing from this position.

    “It’s alright. You’re safe now, Ser,” The Captain came forward, clapping the Templar on the shoulder. “What’s your name, Ser?” The Templar seem to come back to himself for a moment before stiffening up again.

    “Foul and corrupt are you, who have taken His gift.” The words were nearly growled. Frederick and Gale tightened ranks in front of Diana, and even Kilmin had appeared from below decks to try to pull Diana back down.

    Diana was frozen in terror. The Templar knew she was there. Even as she thought it, the Templar’s hand went to his side, grasping for the missing blade. She ducked, just barely avoiding the wave that emanated from the man as he closed his eyes. Diana gasped, pressing a hand to her chest as she felt the mana drain from her. It felt like she was suffocating, but the feeling passed quickly. Gale knelt next to her as he drew his short sword.

   “What did he do?” Diana shook her head, her eyes wide in fear.

    “He’s delirious. No lyrium. Be careful.” With that, she let Kilmin pull her away.

 

* * *

 

    Night fell, and the sky was clear. A swath of stars decorated the dark sky as Gale led Diana onto the deck. She had her cloak pulled tight around her and the cool breezes pulled at the edges, guiding her to the front of the ship.

    “I’ve seen stars before, Gale,” she smiled, swallowing back the urge to run screaming back to her hammock. She had spent the past few hours hidden in an empty box which Kilmin had taken to sitting on protectively.

    “But have you ever seen them on the sea, duchess?” Gale was giddy but supportive, guiding Diana carefully across the deck. He could see the nervousness in her lips as they pulled tight into a strained smile. “There’s nothing like it, I swear.” Gale wrapped his arms around Diana, letting her rest her hands on his armored chest. Her fingers were tight against the many belts that held his daggers, playing with the stitching before she finally looked up at him.

    So long as she looked at him, Diana could watch the stars moving behind him without feeling like she could fall into the sky. His tanned cheeks and permanent grin were enough to keep her grounded. His smile softened while he tucked a wild strand of her dark red hair behind her ear. In the cool night air, his fingertips drew burning patterns on her cheeks.

    “They’re beautiful, Gale.” Her words came out as a whisper. Gale’s eyes watched her lips as she spoke and his hand rested on the crook of her neck.

    “Tu es belle,” Gale mumbled, leaning in. Diana’s eyes closed and she met him, their lips searing against each other. He pulled her closer as she shivered, lost in each other as the stars wheeled overhead. It was minutes before either could talk.

    “You… you’ve been practicing,” Diana giggled, still giddy from the contact. Gale grinned, his hands busy in her hair. She smiled back and her eyes crinkled at the edges. He didn’t give her long, capturing her in another kiss. Her hands grabbed at his shoulders as if desperate to be closer. The elf only pulled back when sparks flew between their lips. “I’m sorry. That happens when I get-” His chest rumbled with laughter as his thumb gently stroked her lips.

    “Excited? Don’t apologize.” He watched as purple bolts lightly jumped from her lips to his thumb. Gale tilted his head. “What does it feel like?” Diana mimicked him, tilting her head. “Magic.”

    “I can’t explain it. It’s a part of me.” The elven man leaned in once more, gently pressing his lips to her. She smiled, letting the flow of magic move between them, regulating it so only the barest amount moved from his lips down to his hands and back into her. The hairs on his arms stood on end and he gasped into her mouth. She pulled back, leaning against the rail. “But it’s kind of like that.”

    “That was amaz- DIANA!” The glint of a candle reflecting off something was all it took for her to step in front of Gale, a Barrier jumping to life across his armor before she started to cast one on herself. The Templar was a step faster, his blade slicing through the partially formed barrier and across her left brow. Diana screamed, trying to see through the thick veil of blood that now poured down her face.

    “THEY SHALL BE CALLED MALEFICAR, ACCURSED ONES! THEY SHALL FIND NO REST IN THIS WORLD OR-” The Templar’s words fell short as he swung again, blocked only by Gale’s quick reflexes. The shortsword parried the large blade, making Gale dance back before lunging again. The Templar growled, ramming Gale with his shoulder before turning on Diana once more. Her vision was blurry, the blood clotting over her eye into a solid mess, but she moved, shifting so she was just a step out of the Templar’s reach. He reeled his sword overhead and Diana ran, throwing her body into him as her free hand flew up into his armpit.

    When Gale had regained his footing, the Templar was lying on the deck, foaming at the mouth. Diana knelt at his side, wiping a dagger off on his robes before throwing it into the ocean.

           “Draw your last breath, my friend,

            Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky.

            Rest at the Maker's right hand,

            And be Forgiven.”


	5. The Silver Lance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diana faces the consequences of her defense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just gonna say this here; I should be getting up for work in an hour but instead I wrote this on my tablet. There's probably formatting and grammar errors out the wazoo. I apologize now, but I swear I'm gonna go back through and correct it. After eight hours of fast-food hell.

    “You said she was harmless!” The captain’s roar echoed through the hull of the Silver Lance. In the deepest recesses of the ship, Diana flinched. Gale had spirited her down to the empty brig and locked her in, giving her the key before returning to the deck.

    “Harmless, yes! Defenseless, no! That crazed Templar attacked us!” Gale shouted, the normal allure of his voice forgotten as he challenged the captain. Feet paraded above Diana, and she shifted back into the shadowed corner, letting some of the crew pass her by. They had dropped the body of the Templar a few cells down, giving her fearful glances before rushing back to their captain a few hours before. 

    The arguing continued above her while she fished one of the small daggers out of her sleeve. It was one that she had taken from the Templar before, small and silver. Even the small hilt had the flaming sword engraved into it. She rolled her good eye before wincing. The swelling from the wound had only gotten worse and the sword she had been struck with left her powerless. Taking a small mirror out of her pocket, she tucked it into the corner of the bars and began to work.

    The wound was long, but the more prominent brow she had inherited from her father had kept the blade from striking her eye. She carefully pried the edge of the clotted blood away from her forehead, seeing the skin separate just below her hairline. The waterskin Gale had left her was half-used as she rinsed the area. Diana tore at the hem of her cloak and wrapped it tight into a bundle, pouring the good water into it until it dripped. It felt cool against her fevered skin while she let it soak. Until she had her magic back to full, she would have to resort to more traditional treatments.

    “The agreement was that you would protect my ship and my crew, not attack castaways!” A crash resounded and Diana knew one of them had thrown something. 

    “And we did! That man was insane! You heard him! What if he had attacked your men?” Gale paced, light footsteps following after the captain’s clunkier beat.

    “That Templar was doing his duty!” The captain’s fist came down on his desk and silence fell after it. A large chair was pulled out, creaked, and a tired sigh punctuated the tension. “A mage, who is being hidden and sent to another country, just killed a Templar. There’s no easy way to spin this, Gale. You know what I have to do."

             "Maybe if you explain it to the Chantry when we make port-" Gale's voice cracked.

             "There's not enough sovereigns to pay my crew to keep quiet about this. A few have already told me to throw your mage overboard. If she had kept to herself, I might have gotten you through." Diana heard Gale snarl in disgust. She winced as a wave made the ship heave. Her hand shifted and the soaked scab began to peel away. At her feet, blood drops stained her shoes.

           "She was trying to help. She's saved my life and the lives of my men. Maker, she's saved half of your crew without any spells!" Mere feet away, she could hear Frederick's slight limp approach the door. She knew from experience that Gale's crew would have stationed themselves within reach of the quarters, probably exchanging steely glares with the Lance's hands.

          "I have no choice. When we make port, she'll be turned over to the Templars. I can spare you and your men, say she lied to us all." Their conversation quieted as the distant stormclouds began to rumble, the waves becoming slightly angry.

        Returning to the task at hand, Diana pulled at her ripped cloak's edge. A long strand of silk pulled free. She did this a few more times before placing them into the water skin. Concentrating, she held the leather between her hands. Her brows furrowed as she dredged the small amount of magic in her. It took minutes before she felt her hands warm, soon causing the water to boil. Diana collapsed onto the floor, her head falling back as she gasped for breath. Stars bloomed as her vision darkened. 

       "Diana?" She jerked back to consciousness, letting out a shriek as the pain returned. Her robes were drenched down her left side in blood. She let her head roll to the side, seeing a blurry set of legs on the other side of the iron bars.

     "If you're here to kill me, that blighted Templar might have beaten you." Her speech was stilted and slurred as she threw her hand towards the body. A deep curse made her look up. Seeing a halo of blonde hair, she squinted for a moment.

     "Diana, give me the key," Frederick growled, his arm reaching halfway into the cage. It took Diana a moment, but she finally fished it out of her pocket. He opened the door, lifting it slightly so the hinges were silent. Frederick cursed as his fingers fumbled before handing her a curved needle and a vial of elfroot. Diana's bag was slung over his shoulder along with a change of clothes. She nodded, chugging the potion before accepting the needle.

     They were silent while she worked save the few hisses as she pulled the needle through her skin. Frederick watched, keeping an eye on the walkway.

      "That looks deep." Diana grunted, using the knife to cut the last stitch free. She gave the big man a small smile and he nodded. He handed her a change of clothes and a great length of bandages. 

     "What are these for?" Frederick gave a small whistle and Alan, one of their elven archers, appeared from the shadows."Maker, how long have you been there?" Alan gave Frederick a nod. Frederick stared at Diana for a long moment before smiling, giving the top of her head a light kiss and leaving. Alan stepped in front of Diana and began to cut the blood drenched robes from her.

    "Quick, help me get you out of these," he whispered, taking what he had cut away and placing it into one of the used potato sacks kept down in the hold. Diana shivered, peeling the rest of her clothes off until she was left in her smalls and breast band. Alan gave her a sad smile. "The band, too, hun." 

    "Why? What are we doing, Alan?" His smile lifted to his eyes and she knew if they weren't working quietly, his telltale laugh would have been echoing through the brig. He ran a blade up the back of her worn band, making it fall free. In almost the same motion, the bandages were being wrapped around her torso until her breasts were nearly flush to her chest. Alan stepped back and circled before looking to her hair. 

   "I know you love your hair, but if you're going to be hiding-" Diana stepped back, horror bleaching her face.

   "You want me to run away?" Alan pulled Diana into a tight hug. Diana relaxed, hugging Alan back as the tears came. 

   "We knew if we gave you or Gale the choice, you'd do the 'right' thing." Alan's smile fell, pulling back as Diana began to swoon.

   "Alan?" She looked, the candlelight shining off the needle the elf held in his hand.

     "Oh, Di. Fred, help me out here." Alan's dalish accent grew dim in Diana's consciousness as she fell into darkness.

* * *

 

 

    The ship rocked harshly as the storm set in, throwing the crew about the deck. Inside the captain's quarters, the argument had calmed slightly. 

    "The storm's getting worse," Gale sighed, bags heavy under his eyes. A small glass hung from his fingers, a few amber drops pooled in the bottom. The captain nodded, pulling back the curtain to look at the chopping waves.

  "True, but my crew is good. They've sailed through worse." The captain refilled their glasses, quickly taking a shot and letting it burn down his throat. He coughed and returned to the large stained map of Thedas. "We should land in Denerim in a few days, three if this storm passes. I suggest you start saying your goodbyes." A few heavy footfalls made them turn to the door before it flew open. The helmsman burst in, followed closely by Frederick. 

   "Sers, you need to see this!" They both jumped to their feet, quickly following them below deck. 

    Most of the crew was crowded in front of the furthest cell, worried murmurs drowned out by a strange sound not unlike a yowled song. Gale glanced into Diana's cell. She was curled up in her cloak, her slippers peeking out from the ripped hem. He worried, reaching for the cell door before Frederick took hold of his shoulder and pushed him to the front of the crowd.

   The Templar was on his knees, arms thrown out in a large embrace. His threadbare shirt was torn to shreds at his knees. His back to the unacknowledged crowd, he continued to scream some long-forgotten lullaby, his voice reaching painful octaves.

   "Ser? We thought you were dead!" The captain had pulled the door to the cell open, coming to face the howling man. When he finally saw his face, the captain quickly backed up, his shoulders bumping against the ship's side. The Templar's shoulders shook as a cruel laugh ripped through him ending in a feral cry. The ripples of muscle along his shoulders grew increasingly red.

    "Fools. As if a mage could kill a servant of the Old God. He will reward me for my service. And you will join us." He rose to his feet with no effort and lunged. His hand wrapped around the captain's throat and sent his fingers into the wood on either side, blood crystals sprouting from his nails. The wood splintered loudly.

   The crew began to jump forward, but the Templar turned to look at them. Crystals grew from his feet towards them, crackling through the floorboards. His face had paled save his cheeks, which now matched his rouge red eyes. His gaze was even more crazed than before, glancing from man to man. His lips curled into a feral grin and he threw his hand out, sending the growing shards flying out into the crew. Frederick stepped in front of Gale, letting a few of the crystals shatter against his plated back. Picking Gale and Kilmin up by their shoulders, he rushed through the panicking sailors and up onto the deck. Gale roared as they passed Diana's cell.

    "Go back! We have to-" They froze on deck. A large figure was bearing down on them, a roar only outdone by the thunder of the storm that had now claimed them.

 

* * *

 

 

   Diana winced as daylight struck her right eye, rolling over on the bed of hay beneath her. It took a minute for her to realize that the floor wasn't rocking. Sitting up, her head swam before she was able to look around. 

    Her vision was slightly obscured with a thin layer of gauze over her left side, just thin enough to see shapes through. Even so, she could see the barn loft she was curled up in. Hay was stacked in piles around her and in the sunbeam at her feet, a small orange cat was curled up. The smell of horses and druffalo emanated from below, and she sneezed, the dry dust and animal fur setting her into a fit.

    She gazed around for awhile before the memories began to assault her. The Templar, the fight, Alan... He had finished dressing her and then... Her hands came up to braid her hair, but reached nothing. A cry escaped her as her hands continued up to her scalp. Her hair had been shorn into a rough mess of sea dampened curls no longer than a dagger blade. Her knees pulled up to her still wrapped chest, rocking as tears pooled and fell down her cheeks. The sun-shaped amulet pressed firmly between the bandages and her skin, leaving her weak limbed as the sobs racked through her.

    The cat stood, stretching before coming to sit in front of her. He sighed, rubbing up against her until she calmed, finally sitting up and wiping the years from her eyes. It took awhile but she reached forward, scratching his head and chin. He allowed it for a moment, giving her a brief purr before jumping out of the loft. 

    Diana stood up, knees shaking as she inspected her clothes. They were plain clothes, obviously meant for a man. The breeches were a little too large, but someone had taken a moment to throw a few stitches in to make them look less tent-like. The shirt was a collection of patches of similar color, all some shade of dark green, sewn together into an Orlesian style adventurer's coat. A belt held a collection of daggers and a shortsword. Her staff was nowhere to be seen, but her bag had been her pillow. A scrap of paper was folded and pinned on the strap. Her fingers shaking, Diana reached for it and opened it.

> "David, your wound was bad. Took you ashore. Farm owner said you could sleep here. Head to Redcliffe. Give Frederick's name at the inn. Will meet you eventually.
> 
> Sorry"

   The note was signed with a crude drawing of Alan's vallaslin, a strange bow framing his eyes. Diana's sorrow gripped her once more. 

    "Boy, you alright?" A woman's voice floated from the barn floor. Diana wiped her tears and crossed to the edge of the loft.

    "Yes. I just hurt." She tried to deepen her voice, but it only made the woman laugh. Diana grabbed her bag and slowly descended the crude ladder. 

    The woman was older, silver hair framing a jolly face. She handed Diana a fresh cutting of elfroot and put a hand solidly on her shoulder.

    "My grandson is the same way, always trying to sound older. Don't worry, you'll get there. If you're up to it, my son is about to take the wagon into town. He'll take you to the crossroads." She smiled, tilting her head slightly. "Be careful on your way to Redcliffe. The road's filled with apostates." A harsh laugh broke through Diana's dried lips.

    "Gotta be careful of those mages, right?" The woman nodded in agreement.

   "Always. Just find a Templar to travel with and you'll be safe, darling. Now, get going. Sam won't wait much longer."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested, I am looking for a beta for this story. Just drop me a line here or on Tumblr: dianelladallard.tumblr.com


	6. Gull and Lantern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Redcliffe is lonely, but the wheels of fate are already turning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Maker, this chapter is so rusty. I apologize in advance--I haven't been sleeping and not really feeling well, but I had to write this.  
> Next time, we'll finally hit DAI!

    Lukewarm mead sloshed out of the wooden mug and spilled across Diana's sleeve as she shifted on the stool she had long since claimed since arriving in Redcliffe. She had lost count of the days, but if the small hash marks on her staff were any indication, she should have given up long ago. It had taken two sleepless weeks of running and hiding for her to make it through the rugged Hinterlands. Mages and Templars alike had hidden strongholds in the mountainous hillsides that had made travel increasingly difficult along the main roads. Her memory was fuzzy, but she remembered falling to the pineneedled ground as a gaggle of apostates rushed to her side.

    The mead burned her throat when she finally drank, giving her a glancing tingle in her chest. The barkeep looked her way as she let the mug tumble from her nearly skeletal fingers to the tabletop. He shook his head, earning a haunted glare from the mage.

    "You know the rule," he sighed. Diana's heart panged painfully. He was Frederick's nephew and the timbre of his voice matched his uncle's deep rumble perfectly. Her vision swam like the last dregs that were now dripping onto the table from her forgotten mug. Her left hand contorted into a vaguely crude motion.

    "But I already paid. Just give the meal to someone else. It... Iit won't stay down anyway." The words stuck in her throat, tripping as her stomach gave a large growl. The scent of fresh bread and meat was nearly overpowering when the barkeep brought a large plate over, ignoring her drunken refusals. He set it down and sat himself across from her, placing the utensils in her hands.

    "Eat. Now. Uncle Fred would kill me if he saw you like this." He motioned to his wife before taking Diana's mug out of her reach. Diana's face twisted into a mixture of hunger and disgust, the hurt reaching her eyes as he spoke again. The door creaked open and she spun in her seat, the sunlight shining onto her. The barkeep frowned.

    In the shade of the tavern, she looked like any number of recent arrivals. Tired, a bit hungry, and journeyworn, she hunched at this table day in and day out. But in the light of day, she was a different creature. The color had faded from her, turning her hair a dusty brown mess and her skin the shade of clay. Even the bright blue tattoo that surrounded her left eye had been reduced to a light gray. The angry red slash running down her brow and cheek was the only eyecatching feature at first glance. While the months passed, the muscle she had earned shed like fall leaves. The robes she had been gifted hung from her birdskull shoulders and her hands shook all the time.

    Diana dropped the fork, cursing and apologizing in the same breath. The barkeep frowned again, grabbing a fresh one from his wife as she passed by. Diana took the hunk of bread in both hands, tearing at the softest part. Dipping it in the slowly melting butter, she tore the small piece and let it sit on her lips. Her eyes rolled back as the flavor burst on her tongue, mouth watering when she finally bit in.

    The barkeep watched her, sadness settling in when Diana finally finished the nibble and reached for a piece of fruit. This was usually where she stopped. She would bite into it, taste the juicy flesh, and stop. The last time, she had thrown it at the nearest wall and dragged herself out.

    "How about some meat?" It took little effort for him to pull the fruit from her hand. Her eyes were heavy lidded as she watched him cut the meat apart. He smiled up at her and offered her the fork again, helping her wrap her hand around the stem. When her hand shook again, his came back to guide it to her mouth. It took a full minute before the scent made her lips crack open again.

    This went on for a few more mouthfuls before she shook her head, tears pooling in her eyes. The man frowned, sighing as he took the plate away. She was wasting away to near nothingness with no sign of what was keeping her here. Already her shoulders shook with the sobs she was trying hide behind a raspy cough.

    The door swung open again and her face lit up, a reflection of who she had been the first time she stumbled through the Gull's door. Three mages came in, but instead of normally sitting down, they began to look at everyone in the room. Diana watched, the excitement all but gone from her features. The trio swept the room, asking the same question before finally ending up in her corner. The barkeep stood protectively between them before their leader, a tall elf with dark hair and darker eyes, placed his staff on the table behind them and raised his hands.

    "We mean no harm, Ser." The man looked back to Diana before she nodded, leaning back in her chair with a hardened expression. Her staff leaned against her leg and she knew, even in her drunken state, she could still give these apostates a good scare if they intended the worst. The barkeep nodded back, retreating to the kitchen, but still in earshot.

    The elf sat down across from Diana, his brows raised in concern. One of his companions began to rummage through their bag, searching for something. Diana's hand tightened on her staff under the table.

    "What circle are you from?" The question was soft, but it set alarms ringing in Diana's mind. The tower burned and an Enchanter shrieked before she returned to herself, nearly knocking over the mug she kept playing with.

    "Why does that matter? The circles are dissolved," she grumbled, trying to match the Ferelden accent to little avail. Her tongue could barely work as it was. The elf looked back at his companions.

    "We're hoping to find at least one mage from each Circle. The Divine has called for a summit between the mages and templars. First Enchanter Fiona was hoping to get as many representatives as possible." The elf offered Diana a scroll. She eyed it for a moment before opening it, unraveling and reading the scratched missive.

    "Why look for me, then? I'm not a Senior Enchanter," she handed the scroll back.

    "Little's been heard from the Free Marches, especially since Kirkwall..." The elf trailed off before his companion coughed.

    "There was a rumor about a mage who sounded like they were from there in town, so we were sent to look," the young girl chirped. Diana cringed. This mage looked barely fifteen and had probably never been through her Harrowing. It set Diana's skin shivering.

    "So I'm a Marcher. Why should I follow you? And what makes you think this isn't a trap?" They shared glances before shrugging. The elf sighed.

    "First Enchanter Fiona thinks its safe, and Divine Justina has offered to mediate.” Diana’s eyebrows shot up, sending a twinge of pain through her head. She shot a glance at the barkeep who just shook his head. Resting her head in her hand, she blew her breath out in a loud raspberry.

    “Ostwick.” Their eyes went wide and Diana swore she heard several glasses break throughout the tavern. A few swears sounded from corners and the room emptied out quickly. The elven man coughed, trying to smooth out the situation.

    “Are... are you sure?” Diana’s laugh was harsh and bitter.  
        “Oh, am I sure? I killed Enchanter Devin when he came at me with a knife. He almost used me for blood magic, that _trouduc_.” Her smile showed too many teeth to be friendly, but it was only to keep herself from vomiting across the table. The silence between them was awkward and heavy until Diana finally lifted herself from the table, legs shaking beneath her robes.

    “Can I carry anything for you?” The young girl ran forward, all smiles. Diana hefted her bag and dropped it into her waiting arms, earning a curse. “Maker!” Diana ignored her, stumbling to the door.

    “There’s a wagon waiting to take us” The elf started, but Diana’s hand came up in a cutting motion and silence followed it. She stood in the doorway, her hand hovering at the handle. Her stomach churned like the ocean waves and blood rushed in her ears, drowning everything out.

    “I have a stop to make.”

* * *

 

    Diana knelt in the Chantry, elbows resting on her knees. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her as she rocked gently, lips moving silently. The sisters passed her wordlesslyShe was here every day.

    “ _Heureux ceux qui se tiennent devant la corruption et les méchants et ne pas faiblir..._ ” The candle in front of her flickered in response, licking at her words. Finally, she leaned back on her heels, dropping the hefting bag of coins Frederick had given her and his nephew had refused to take into the collection plate. A sense of peace washed over her, even if her hangover was only just settling in. “Merci,Maker. Guide me in these days to come. I cannot  
do it alone.”

    She took a folded piece of parchment out of her pocket and stood, approaching the statue of Andraste. Diana stiffened as a memory played in her mind.

      _Gale wrapping his arms around her, braiding her hair for her, kissing the shell of her ear._

_“Hair like Andraste. Flaming red. Gorgeous.”_

    She wiped the tear from her eye, walking behind the statue and tucking the small paper into one of the stylized curls of her hair. Pressing a kiss to her fingers, she pressed them to the marble before turning away.

    The large door to the Chantry swung open, making the trio of mages turn to look at her. Diana appeared stronger, walking upright with the air of nobility she had long since left behind.

    “So. Where are we going?” The elf’s smile was ironic, mimicking her earlier emotion.

    “The Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

 


	7. Sacred Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diana approaches the destroyed Temple, aided by her new companions. DAI Spoilers from here on out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter makes me feel like molasses in December. It should be smoother from here on. Thanks and always, reviews/constructive criticism is always welcome!

_A mirror twice, three times taller than her, spanning on into infinity. She reflects. Tall, proud, powerful. Someone at her shoulder, caressing, whispering. A hand on her cheek, her eyes burn red. The mirror-self curls her lip into a snarl, and she cowers. She is forgetting something._

_“ **Look at all you could be. I could, will take this from you**.” A green strand pulling from her forehead, glowing brighter and brighter and-_

   

* * *

 

    Solas smiled, turning to face Diana even as she gasped for air. The demons around them were downed and the small rift, a mere mimicry of the one above them, was finally shut. Sweat beaded down the deeply grooved scar on Diana’s face and she tossed her head back, making the short curls bounce as she panted. Cassandra surveyed the area, grunting something vaguely positive. Varric, who had already taken to Diana in the few minutes they had talked, stood next to the already exhausted mage. He rested a hand on her shoulder, giving her a caring glance as Solas approached.

    “We are clear for the moment, well done.” The elf’s voice sounded strange and alien, no discernable accent other than Dalish. Diana flashed him a half-smile, pain wracking through her left hand. The anchor, or whatever it was, had taken to throbbing and glowing in an annoying beat, teasing something from Diana’s mind. Even a full month without drinking, she still had gaps in her memory that enraged her. Concern began to creep onto Solas’s face before Diana forced herself upright. Varric frowned slightly.

    “Whatever that thing is on your hand, it’s useful,” he yelled over the clash of metal and demon. Cassandra nodded, yelling for the gate to be opened. Forcing herself forward, Diana led them through the gate onto the stone bridge. They could see the whole valley from here, an awe-inspiring sight of pine and snow. At the far end of the bridge, Diana’s eyes caught sight of the familiar crimson red and shining gold of someone in Chantry attire. She could barely keep herself sane with the demons alone, the veil preciously thin enough to keep them from whispering into her mind.

    She sheathed her staff, shaking the stray strands of magic from her limbs before pulling her hood down, swallowing back the sirens in her mind that screamed the sky would eat her. Already, they could hear the accusations and orders being yelled out by the Chantry man. Diana shared grimaces with her companions and strode forward, repeating some inane part of the Chant in her mind as an attempt at a mantra.

   Spymaster Leliana rushed ahead of the table, smiling as she greeted them before the man yelled over her.

   “As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution!” This wasn’t the first death threat Diana had heard since waking in Haven, chained and bound in the belly of the Chantry there. Cassandra stepped in front of her, snarling at the Chancellor.

   “Order me? You are nothing but a glorified clerk!” The warrior’s strong words rang against the stone, echoing her voice even over the sounds of battle. Diana’s concentration waned, the pain in her left hand growing as it shook. The growing Fade-Green glow captured all of their attentions, fingers clawing at the air as her palm shifted between pain and nothingness. Somewhere in her mind, she noted to ask Solas if part of her hand was in the Fade itself. If she survived.

   “What do you think we should do?” Cassandra turned her back on the Chancellor, earning her a bladed glare only outdone by the one Leliana was giving the Chancellor right now. Diana’s mind wavered, another memory pressing against the fog, and she shook her head.

   “The, uh, the direct charge sounds best. Consolidate your forces and charge as one. If that’s alright.” Her voice was more strained than she thought. The pain was getting worse as they got closer to the mountaintop. Cassandra nodded, yelling orders to the soldiers around them even as she conferred with the spymaster.

   “On your head be the consequences, Seeker.” The Chancellor sneered as they marched off, and it was only Varric pressing Diana on that kept her from spinning back to verbally spar with him.

   “Save your breath, Red. He’s just hot air,” Varric laughed, trying to make light even as a wave of demons rushed towards them. He lifted the crossbow, Bianca, off his shoulder and shot three successive rounds, each hitting their mark perfectly. Diana nodded her approval before spinning back, pulling the staff off her back in a series of spins. Each spin sent off a bolt of fire before she slammed the blade into the ground, a Barrier jumping to life just in time to send a Despair Demon spinning off Cassandra’s shield. Across the way, Solas copied Diana’s spell, hitting the few men her Barrier hadn’t reached.

   It took only an hour for them to reach the top of the mountain, but it had left most of them exhausted. Panting, they pulled themselves into the ruins, tossing healing potions to one another. If it hadn’t been for the throbbing pain in her hand, Diana was sure this was the most exhilarated she had felt in ages. Her magic was pushed to the very limits, starting the next spell before the first had even left her staff. Her heart beat in her ears like a steady drum, and it reminded her of her father’s war stories.

   A cry echoed from the ruins and they took off, weapons in hand. The quartet rounded the corner and charged against the wall of demons that had overtook a few soldiers. Diana spun, letting her staff slide from one hand to the other, shooting a bolt of lightning at a pair of wraiths. She ran, her boots sliding against the uneven cobbled stone as she took off towards another yell for help. A well-armored man roared, his blade locked against a towering Terror Demon. It ripped the sword from the man with a deep chuckle. Diana snarled, tossing her staff back to her left hand as she ripped one of the small blades out of her belt. The demon raised its arms, throwing the blade to the side even as the man brought his fists up and swung at the embodied Terror. She could feel bones crunch beneath her boots as she pushed herself, running as fast as her lungs would let her. One spin of her staff raised a Barrier around the defending man as she leapt, shoving the knife into the back of the demon. It gave one last scream, a bright fiery glow bursting from the wound before it fell into nothingness. The blade clattered to the ground at the man’s feet as Diana climbed back to her feet.

   “Commander?” Cassandra rushed over to them. The man picked the blade off the ground, spinning it in his fingers before pocketing it and rising to face Cassandra.

   “Lady Cassandra, you managed to close the rift? Well done,” he smiled, his gaze returning to Diana as she brushed the ashes off her knees. The anchor throbbed painfully, making her grit her teeth until they squeaked. She could distantly hear Cassandra explaining to the Commander even as her eyes rolled back briefly. Solas pressed his hand to Diana’s shoulder, sending a wave of magic through her in a rush of relief. She smiled and opened her mouth to thank Solas as the Commander strode towards her.

   “I hope they’re right about you. We’ve lost a lot of people getting you here.” The words shot ice into her heart, guilt haunting her even as he smiled. She faced him, assessing before answering.

   “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try my best,” she answered politely, but her mind hissed in warning. She would have to be blind to miss it. Templar. He seemed to notice something and his stance relaxed, the corners of his eyes wrinkling in a ghost of a smile.

   “That’s all we can ask.” He conferred with Cassandra for a moment longer, but his gaze kept wandering back to Diana, who returned his stare sideways. Even Varric made a noise as her chin raised, her gaze cold as the Commander returned to Diana. “Maker watch over you… for all our sakes.” He stared at her a moment longer before rushing off with his troops, helping one to his feet and helping him out of the war zone.

   The group exchanged glances while Diana’s stare changed between fear and curiosity before Solas coughed gently, bringing her back. Varric was grinning at her in a way that made Diana understand why Cassandra’s lip curled when he was around.

   “Shall we?” Solas motioned to the Rift in the sky, Cassandra already striding into the center. Diana huffed, taking her staff in hand before following suit.

* * *

 

_Fingers ghosting across her back, drawing lines between her shoulder blades._

_“Reminds me of the sky, especially at sea.” Giggles rolling up her body, tossing her mane of hair over her shoulder before letting him braid it back._

_“How so?” His fingers deftly moving her tresses. Left, right, over, under. Lips pressing to her shoulder._

_“Stars at night, they’re like your freckles.” His voice trailing off about constellations and the ocean._

_“ **He’s gone from you**.” _

_She looks back at him. Red eyes. Who is he?_

_“ **I will take this from you**.”_


	8. Chants and Fears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I can't wait to get this rolling even more. Thanks for reading and reviews are ALWAYS welcome!  
> And if the French isn't correct, I'm really sorry. I'm slowly teaching myself it, but I'm sure I'm conjugating something wrong.

  The sound of the chapel doors swinging open before loudly slamming shut echoed only enough to drown out the beginning of an obviously long winded and colorful tirade that had started in Val Royeaux. Leliana smiled, walking towards the irate Herald. Even Cassandra was keeping a few steps away from Diana’s hands, which gesticulated and crackled with magic wildly.

  “ _C’est des conneries_! I swear if that _merde embulante_ even thinks about asking, _non_ , talking to me, he will have to pry his _couilles vers le bas de ma botte_!” Leliana’s hand flew to her mouth, covering the small giggles as she saw Josephine round the corner. The Antivan woman’s face blushed as the Herald continued, setting a small fire in a vase as she described the Lord Seeker. Cullen was the only one mildly surprised, striding down the hall towards the commotion.

  “Why, Herald, I didn’t know you were Orlesian,” Leliana smiled conversationally. Diana’s tirade halted as she gave Leliana an equally friendly smile.

  “I told you, you don’t need to know who I was before I joined the Circle. Its a moot point, Nightingale.” Leliana’s smile didn’t falter, but Josephine saw her hands clench a little tighter. It was no mystery that they wanted to know everything about the Herald but Diana had remained silent so far.

  “I assume everything went-” Cullen began, only to be cut off by Cassandra. Diana gave Cullen only the slightest of nods before turning her attention to the warrior.

  “About as well as planned. Lord Seeker Lucius is not the man I remember.” They began to stride as one towards the war room, each one’s suggestions growing louder within a few footsteps.

  “Or the Herald could simply go to meet the mages in Redcliffe instead?” Josephine’s suggestion was innocent, but it set alarms off in Diana’s mind. A headache bloomed as the now familiar feeling of something pressing against the fog in her mind grew. Her lips twisted into a scowl as Cullen turned on his heel, reaching instinctively for his hilt.

  “You think the mage rebellion is more united? It could be ten times worse!” Diana maneuvered herself quickly into the middle of their group, nodding briefly at Cassandra’s growing smile.

  “Or you could stop bickering and make a decision!” Cassandra nodded, making Diana feel assured in raising her voice for once--She often felt more like a mother telling them to go to their rooms rather than the Herald of Andraste. They looked sheepishly at their feet for a moment before continuing, albeit more politely under Diana’s stern gaze. They spoke for only a moment longer before splitting off.

  Diana stomped her way out of the Chantry, cursing under her breath with each step. Every person she passed turned to face her, bowing and cheering for her. It made her stomach churn what little Varric had forced her to eat. Even now she could hear Varric talking loudly with the not-so-elven woman they had picked up in Val Royeaux. The small tavern was busy with people, the sound of Sera’s snorting laughter making Diana stop and smile just a bit.

  Haven was, to Diana, just what the name implied, safe and somehow more of a home than she’d had in ages. The last month had been hectic, what with travelling between Orlais and the Hinterlands. Just the sight of the small village as they returned was enough to make her smile. Since the events at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, the death threats within the camp had stopped. It seemed only the outside world deemed her a heretic, and that made her never want to leave Haven ever again, even if it was freezing.

  Diana wandered aimlessly, nodding to those she passed. Mother Giselle waved at her from the archway of the Chantry and she guiltily ignored the older woman. No doubt the Mother wanted her to speak at the next sermon. Diana had no issue with leading the faithful in the Chants, but a rousing speech was not in her grasp. She patted her satchel as if looking for something, shrugged and turned back to her small house. The guilt rested heavily on her shoulders until she got indoors, gratefully shrugging off her cloak.

  She had taken no time in filling the small living space with books and other items for studying. Several tomes lay open on the rarely used bed and a few others had fallen to the floor.

  “Rina, I thought you were going to--Oh.” Her staff clattered onto the ground next to her, sobbing before the words finished leaving her lips. Rina would have had this organized before she even woke up. Even awake, Diana refused to look at the door now, knowing her mind would trick her into seeing the slender tanned arm hanging in the walkway. Diana cried out, the strength draining from her until her knees dropped her heavily onto the floor. Tears pooled on the floor until she began rocking herself, singing in a broken sorrowful voice.

  “O Maker, hear my cry: Guide me through the blackest nights, steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked, make me to rest in the warmest places…” It took a few stanzas before she collected herself, crawling forward to gather the books from the floor. She replaced the bookmarks reverently, closing them and piling them on the table as she sang. The messenger raven croaked as she passed, giving him a scratch under his chin before closing the window.

  “Make me one within Your glory and let the world once more see Your favor-”

  “For You are the fire at the heart of the world and comfort is only Yours to give.” Diana jumped, dropping the few books in her arms as she spun. Cullen stood in the doorway, looking flushed and self-conscious at having startled her. “I’m sorry, Herald.” He closed the door behind him as she gathered the dropped tomes quickly. She let them drop to the bed before returning her attention to the Commander.

  He had crossed the room to the raven, smiling as he scratched the bird’s head with the tip of his finger gently. Diana crossed her arms, waiting for her unwelcome visitor to notice.

  “So you know Transfigurations?” She tried to sound angry but, as always, her voice was too light to sound anything other than tremulous. Cullen returned his attention to her, clearing his throat as he replied.

  “Every Templar has to. I’m more impressed that a mage would know it so well.” Her face flushed and her fingers bit into her skin. Her chin raised haughtily, a small sneer of disgust marring her face.

  “Which means you were listening for awhile, Commander.” She turned her back on him, trying to keep the tears from reappearing. Her hands busied themselves with organizing the books, heavy footfalls moving around her side. Cullen knelt down and picked up a forgotten novel, offering it to her. Diana froze, glaring at his hand before taking the book. Even at the distance he kept, she could smell the tang of metal and leather around him.

  “I apologize, Herald, but I heard someone singing. There are few who sing the Chant around here, especially since the Inquisition has declared itself separate from the Chantry. I was… curious.” He had stepped back, folding his hands on the hilt of his sword. Diana frowned, knowing he was trying to be polite. Slowly, she took a deep breath and sat in the small wooden chair the Inquisition had provided her. Diana’s back was straight while she let her hands fold in her lap before raising her gaze to his.

  “Why curious? I heard plenty of Templars sing the Chant while I was in Ostwick,” she replied, trying to keep the cold out of her voice as she motioned to the other chair. Cullen appeared to release a long-held breath, dragging the seat across the room until he sat opposite her.

  “It has been a while since I’ve been around enough Templars to hear any sing. When I was in Kirkwall, I would pass the Chantry during my patrols and the songs would echo into the courtyard.” He trailed off, lost in his memory for a moment. “Did they sing in your Circle?” Diana’s laugh was almost cruel, harsh and barking.

  “The others wouldn’t talk to me for a week when they heard me sing. We had a small chapel, like most, but I was the only mage who dared to step inside.” She flicked her fingers at the fireplace and it sprang to life, licking flames around the small teakettle inside of it. “Ser Bantam made sure to remind me that I would never become a sister. I had to go in the middle of the night just to light candles. Otherwise he’d make me kneel for hours repeating Threnodies. ‘Remember, it was your kind that ruined the Golden City’.” Cullen scowled, making the scar in his lip deepen. “I’m not sure who I hated more, him or my mother.” Diana rose, lifting the kettle out of the fire and pouring two cups of tea. She hesitated a moment before offering the steaming cup to the Commander. His face lit up and he peeled off the leather gloves he always wore before wrapping his hands around the small clay cup.

  “It seems that you haven’t met many good Templars.” She held back the scoff by drinking from her tea, cringing as it seared against her throat.

  “Are there many? It seems to me that most of them are cruel.” Cullen shifted in his seat, glancing at the closed windows.

  “There are just as many cruel mages, you must know.” He mimicked her, sipping at his own tea. Diana placed hers on the table, frustration making her hands shake.

  “But we didn’t choose to be mages. You chose to be a Templar, didn’t you?” Cullen’s face flushed and his shoulders squared, setting his mug next to hers. They were mirrors of one another, stony faces and cold features. He took a moment to swallow back the retort that threatened to slip from him before answering.

  “Yes, I chose to be a Templar.” He paused, breathing deeply before continuing. “And I chose to leave the Order as well.” Shock splayed across Diana, taken aback at the tenderness Cullen answered with. He stood, crossing to the window, hands behind his back. “Its Templars like Ser Bantam that have tainted the Order. We were supposed to protect everyone. I…” His hand came up to grip the back of his neck, something Diana had picked up was a nervous habit of his. Cullen turned back to her. The sun streaming in through the window caught on his armor, making him glow. Even as a heavenly soldier, he seemed humble, his eyes holding some apology in them.

  “Commander?”

  “I apologize for taking up your time, Herald.” He had flushed red before squaring his shoulders. A few strides were all it took for him to reach the door. Diana was quick behind him, her hand hovering over his shoulder before wrenching it back as if singed. Cullen seemed to notice, turning his head in time to see the tips of her fingers disappear. “Herald?”

  “If… If you ever…” She sighed, hanging her head for a moment. “You’re not wasting my time, Commander.” She gripped her hands tightly behind her, concentrating on keeping her breathing even. Her eyes were still avoiding the doorway itself, fear widening her eyes. Cullen’s face seemed to soften, a smile wrinkling the corners of his eyes.

  “Thank you, Herald.” They studied each others faces for a moment before remembering themselves. Diana coughed, letting her eyes wander towards her books while Cullen chuckled a little. “Oh, and I should warn you, Leliana is determined to find out who you are, really. It sounds like not finding you in any records has just made her more angry.”

  “It wouldn’t do us any good. My family disowned me and my titles and claims were revoked, just like any mage.” Cullen’s eyebrows shot up, surprised at her coldness. “It’s true. I’m almost certain my mother hired anyone who could rip a page out of a book to make sure I didn’t tarnish the family name.” Diana’s hands ripped at the air in an imitation of a highborn noble, nose up and hands delicately angled just so.

  “Needless, it might be easier to just sit down with her. She’ll find out eventually.” With a slight bow, Cullen excused himself from her small house. Diana watched him make his way out the gate, sunlight glinting off his armor before disappearing around a corner. At a distance, Varric and Sera were pulling faces from the entry to the Tavern. Sera turned round and Diana giggled, the sight of the elf’s pale bottom sending the guards into fits.

  It was time to get to work.

 

 


End file.
